


Keep Me Afloat

by lavenderlotion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dom Sheriff Stilinski, Kneeling, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, Sub Derek Hale, Subdrop, Subspace, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: Derek made a noise, something questioning—words were too hard through the fog that was settling over his mind—and he swayed forward, watching John with big eyes. He settled onto a comfortable looking armchair, but Derek remained standing. He wanted to sit, sort of, but he wanted John to keep telling him what to do. He liked it.After a moment of silence, John chuckled, the sound deep and smooth. “Do you want to sit?”





	Keep Me Afloat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_crate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/gifts).



Derek felt restless. His skin was crawling, itchy, and it felt too tight, made him want to peel it away. His mind was too loud, everything was too loud, and he just wanted quiet. Needed quiet. There was always so much going on and Derek was doing his best to keep his head above water, but he felt like he was drowning, like he was going to be pulled under with the tide.

He had no idea what to do. But he was the  _ Alpha _ —the Alpha he was never supposed to be, born to be a Beta, never trained and always fucking up, so many mistakes—and he had to keep it together. He had a pack, had bitten them and made them, and they were his, but he had no idea what he was doing.

It felt like he was drowning, sometimes. When he didn’t know how to help them, when he had no idea what to say to make anything better. When he couldn't find the words to explain what an Anchor was, when he had to chain Boyd and Erica up during the full moon because he didn’t know how to articulate the  _ beauty _ that was submitting to its pull.

He had no idea how to hold his pack together. Hell, he had hardly managed to get Boyd and Erica to stay. It had felt too much like he was losing family again, and he was scared, so scared. It must have shown on his face, or in his scent—or maybe they had been able to feel the pack bonds, had learned enough on their own or from Stiles, who seemed to know everything, to feel how  _ devastated _ he was when Erica told him they needed to get away.

But he was so lost. Laura had always been meant as the next Alpha, and she had been, when they were in New York, but now she was gone, too. Everyone was gone.  _ Everyone was gone _ , and he was an Alpha, and he felt like he was  _ drowning _ .

Derek knew it was unfair, but he sought Stiles out anyway. The human was brilliant, had figured out that Scott had been bitten on his own, had kept him in control and safe when Derek couldn't figure out a way to help. Stiles would know what to do—now that the Kanima was gone, and Jackson was a wolf and Derek had nothing to fill his days. 

There was no monster to hunt, or mystery to figure out, and Derek didn’t know what to do with himself. In New York he had worked. Construction, mostly. Long hours of physical labour—but there wasn’t a market for his experience here, and wasn’t sure how to fill his hours. 

Stiles would probably know, or have an idea. Derek wasn’t sure how Stiles had always been able to read him—maybe it was the hint of ozone, the faintest bit of morning dew in his scent that Derek recognized as magic—but Derek knew Stiles would be able to help. 

It was why Derek was here. Why he was trying to still his shaking fingers. His head hurt, a pressure headache that had been building for  _ weeks _ , pressing against his eyes. He was still standing on Stiles’ front porch, and he curled his hands into fists. He knew how much Stiles hated it when he showed up in his room unannounced. Derek didn’t want Stiles to be mad at him before asking for help, so he knocked on the front door and waited. 

When the door opened, it wasn’t Stiles’ too fast heartbeat or his usual scent. It wasn’t Stiles at all, and Derek’s heartbeat sped up at the sight of the Sheriff. The older man was wearing a frown and casual clothes, a soft sweater and faded, worn-in jeans. It was a stark difference to what he normally looked like, but even without his Sheriff’s uniform he still held an aura of power.

“Everything okay, son?” the Sheriff’s voice was firm, filled with an authority Derek would never be able to wield on his own, one he  _ missed _ . 

Derek shook his head, his stomach knotting with nerves. He didn’t know what to say, how to explain  _ why _ he would be at the Sheriff’s front door on a Sunday afternoon. He had no excuse for his presence, no believable tale ready to be told. He hardly even knew what the truth was, himself.

“Why don’t you come in?” Derek knew it was phrased as a question, but he still nodded his head and hurried to obey. It was nice, easy, to think of it as an order and to follow it.

Derek had no idea why he thought the Sheriff would be any less observant than Stiles, but that wasn’t the case. Derek walked through the door, though he stood inside the front hall and waited. He had no idea what to do now, and his head still felt too full, the headache he had only feeling worse. 

The Sheriff closed the door behind him, not taking his eyes off Derek. “So, Stiles tells me you’re the Alpha, huh?”

Derek nodded, though he was sure his surprise showed on his face. He hadn’t known that Stiles had told his dad, though he could remember Stiles talking about how much he hated the lying. He felt uncomfortable, like he was taking up too much space in the hallway. Derek didn’t know what to do with his hands, or how to hold himself.

The Sheriff held out his hand, and Derek stared at it for a long moment before he thought to offer up his own. The Sheriff grip was firm, hands calloused and warm and Derek didn’t pull his own away until the Sheriff let his hand go. “It’s nice to finally meet you, formally.”

“I-is Stiles home, Sheriff?” Derek asked, having to force the words out of his too-tight throat.

“Call me John, please. And no, he’s not right now,” The Sher— _ John _ , told him. 

Derek blinked heavy eyes, trying his best to ignore the sharp disappointment in his chest. He didn’t want to go back to an empty loft, just to lay awake for another night. Or, worse, run in the preserve until his body collapsed in a desperate attempt to quiet his mind. He looked at the floor, trying to push down on the panic that was crawling up his throat.

“Come,” the Sheriff’s voice was deep, though it was calm, and Derek found the tone to be soothing.

He followed, almost happily, through the front hall and into the living room. John stopped in the middle of the room, Derek coming to a halt a step behind him. He wasn’t sure what to do now, though, and John kept staring at him. Derek wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but whatever it was, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to give it. 

He had nothing left to give.

“Are you alright?” John asked, voice laced with concern and Derek didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to answer that, because something  _ was _ wrong, but he didn’t know what.

“What can I do to help?” the Sheriff asked, and he moved closer, gripping the back of Derek’s neck. 

It was something Derek had seen him do to Stiles, when Derek had been watching the teens, back when he first returned to town. Derek wasn’t expecting his own reaction, though, and he couldn’t stop the whine before it fought its way out of his throat. His face heated up with a blush, only darkening when instead of pulling away John tangled his fingers into the short hairs along Derek’s nape.

He whined again when the man tugged, and he let his head fall to the side, exposing his neck. It caused something like excitement to rush through him, his toes and fingertips tingling. John made a pleased noise, his scent happy, and Derek puffed out his chest in pride, though he deflated as soon as John stepped away.

Derek made a noise, something questioning—words were too hard through the fog that was settling over his mind—and he swayed forward, watching John with big eyes. He settled onto a comfortable looking armchair, but Derek remained standing. He wanted to sit, sort of, but he wanted John to keep telling him what to do. He liked it.

After a moment of silence, John chuckled, the sound deep and smooth. “Do you want to sit?”

Derek shrugged, because yes he wanted to sit but more than that he wanted to…wanted to—

“Do you want to kneel for me, Derek?” Derek’s heartbeat picked up at the question, and he was nodding his head before the question had settled in his mind.

“C’mon then. Kneel,” John’s tone was stern, sure, and Derek found it so easy to obey. 

It was easy to listen to John’s voice.

It felt right, and he fell to his knees at the man’s feet, between his spread legs. The pressure in his head was less than it had been, and Derek smiled softly to himself. He almost jumped when John settled a hand in his hair, brushing the strands back—petting him, but Derek didn’t mind—though he managed to stay still, and when the man scratched his fingers up Derek’s scalp he went boneless and fell forward.

He was guided to John’s thigh, his cheek pressing against the rough texture of his jeans and Derek found himself more comfortable than he thought possible. John was still running his fingers through Derek’s hair, and Derek felt his mind go quiet, the thoughts that had been fighting for space for weeks, months, slipping away.

Derek felt like he was falling. His mind was foggier than it had been, and he felt himself frown. He was…he was confused, a little. He didn’t know  _ why _ he was on the floor, only that he liked it and John had told him to do so. He liked doing what John told him to do, after all. 

It felt familiar, following orders. 

He felt like his heart was going to beat out his chest with happiness when John called him a good boy, and the smile that spread across his face was so wide that it felt foreign. 

“Really, sir?” Derek asked, his words a little slurred around his fangs—though he wasn’t sure when they had dropped—needing to be sure.

“Yes Derek, you’re a good boy,” The words felt good,  _ so good _ , almost as good as the hand that was running through his hair. Derek closed his eyes, let himself do nothing but feel.

John’s heartbeat was steady and soothing. He didn’t falter in his movements, his hand continuously running along Derek’s head. Derek could hear the little noises he made every time John scratched through his hair, whenever he dragged his fingernails over Derek’s scalp, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He felt light,  _ safe _ , like he was floating in the ocean. He didn’t want it to end, and he nuzzled at the denim under his head. John chuckled so Derek did it again, let his mouth fall open as he breathed in. He felt good, so good, and his mind wasn’t running too fast, and instead it was clear and empty and quiet.

“We’ll talk about it later, alright. Now, just be a good pup and kneel for me. You can do that, can’t you Derek?” he wasn’t sure if John wanted him to answer, but he nodded his head either way, a smile pulling at his lips. “I knew you could. You’re going to be a good boy for me, and later we can talk about this, alright? For now, just relax.”

It was easy to listen to him, and Derek did. He let his eyes fall closed again, breathed in and in, smelling gun oil and sweat and something that reminded him of Stiles. John’s hand was heavy on the back of his neck, and it was easy for Derek to let himself go, with the way he was being held. 

He knew John wouldn’t let him drown.

**Author's Note:**

> wow i wrote this in april??? jeez. 
> 
> also, i've posted 300k this year. woo!
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr!](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/)


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